


Sleepsong

by Lothiriel84



Category: MarsCorp (Podcast)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Imprisonment, Mental Breakdown, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Oh you go to sleep on your ownAnd you wake each day with your thoughtsAnd it scares you being aloneIt's a last resort





	Sleepsong

He strives not to give in to slumber – fingernails digging into his palms, incoherent screams building up deep inside his chest. It’s no use – sooner or later, his body and mind are bound give in to their own exhaustion, and he will succumb to a fitful sleep.

And with sleep, comes the dreaming.

With the inexorability of a black hole’s gravitational pull, he finds himself back where everything started. His dream self always blinks awake in time to catch a glimpse of Colin throwing one final glance over his shoulder, even as he steps through the Doorway and is lost to this particular universe. Each time, he dares to hope he will find a way to break the curse, somehow; that this time around, he will find it in himself to jump straight into the portal, without the briefest hesitation or doubt.

No such luck, of course; and honestly, what had he been expecting? Just as his real self, confined within the four walls of his gloomy prison cell, his dream self is trapped in some sort of perpetual limbo – doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, without any prospect of escape whatsoever.

Shareholders know he tried every possible combination so far; no matter which way he chooses to go about it, some unforeseen obstacle will invariably materialise to hold him back, and he will be forced to watch as his one chance of freedom is pried away from his desperate fingers. The cruel irony of being forced to relive the worst moment of his life every time he closes his eyes is bad enough, but it’s the agony of having that tenuous glimmer of hope briefly rekindled only to be stamped out all over again that really gets to him.

If only he could do without any sleep, then his continued existence would feel that tiny bit more bearable. He could stand being gnawed away by regret and self-loathing; the visions in his sleep, on the other hand, are nothing but renewed torture, and they’re slowly but steadily eroding the last few shreds of his sanity.

Only a moment ago, he was crawling his way inch by inch through a mob of irate Martians to the very threshold of the Door; his fingers brushing against its metal structure for a few agonising seconds, only to be pulled away even more roughly than on any of the previous occasions. He jolts awake gasping for air, the gash running across his palm and all the way up his forearm looking and feeling way more real that it ought to.

It’s a coincidence, he tells himself; he must have hurt himself in his sleep, somehow, and the physical sensation triggered that particular detail to be included in his dream. He searches his pockets for his handkerchief, improvises a makeshift dressing for his hand.

It has to be a coincidence. ( _What do we say about coincidences, David?_ the Colin in his head chides him, shaking his head in mild disappointment.) Dreams are but a product of the mind – a succession of jumbled images and sensations that can in no way affect reality.

(He watches as the blood starts seeping through the fabric, can almost feel the piece of junk cutting through his skin as he’s being dragged away.)

The CleanerBot comes and goes, and still he doesn’t move. He peers through the near darkness at the faint outline of the ceiling, runs over the scene again and again and again – until he loses track of everything, from his own surroundings to the passing of time.

For the first time ever since the beginning of his incarceration, he lies down and closes his eyes of his own volition. He listens to his own heartbeat, listens to the whirring noises echoing through the walls and air conducts as if amplified tenfold.

Now that he’s actively seeking it, sleep seems to elude him; he tosses and turns, recites every physics equation and formula he’s ever known, yet to no avail. It feels like he’s on the verge of finally losing his mind, which is not as scary as many of the outlooks that present themselves to his frazzled nerves.

( _Nothing is not possible, David_ , Colin’s voice echoes in his brain. _Not if you want it hard enough._ )

(Shut up shut up shut up.)

Time stretches and dissolves into a dissonance of voices reverberating on the inside of his own skull. He wails and cries and screams, and still cannot drown the awful screeching – too loud, too many, make them stop, they won’t stop.

(Oh please let me be, just let me die, please.) ( _Don’t be selfish, David._ )

(You could have saved me. Why didn’t you save me?) ( _Don’t be ridiculous. Every man for himself, remember?_ )

( _For himself, for himself._ ) (I loved you, never mind.)

It’s the sudden silence, descending over him like a blanket of warm shadows, that eventually tips him off; he takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes.

He can hear them coming, can hear them calling for him.

He doesn’t wait for Colin to make eye contact; rushes to his feet, and in a flash of inspiration, pushes past him as he sprints towards the Door.

(Every man for himself, remember?)

The portal is swirling in a vortex of dazzling, bright pink light. Without as much as looking back over his shoulder, he holds his breath, and jumps in.


End file.
